


out here making news

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV), Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Untitled Goose Game Fusion, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 19:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: There's a goose. Crowley is displeased.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 381
Collections: Click Here If You’re Looking for a Distraction from the 2020 Presidential Election, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	out here making news

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late to the party but I don't apologize.

They're in the village for a while before the goose shows up.

Crowley, despite himself, likes living in the village. Aziraphale miracles him the most perfect chair ever devised to sun on, and his plants have never looked better. He goes joyriding in the Bentley whenever he feels like it, weaving in and out of cars and tractors and sheep. It's peaceful; maybe he'll get tired of it, but for now, it's nice.

Distracted by his own matters, Crowley doesn't actually find out about the goose for a while. He's sitting in the park by the river, where he's supposed to be meeting Aziraphale; Aziraphale's supposed to be bringing lunch, so Crowley expects he's gotten distracted talking to someone and will be along soon.

That's when he hears the honking. 

There are geese around, because geese go wherever they damn well please. This one, however, seems unusually loud, honking over and over, and Crowley hears muttered swearing following it. He looks over his shoulder, and there is, of course, a goose; unusually for a goose, it is carrying a trowel, being chased by the older man who always seems to be gardening. The goose is waddling quickly away, and the man gives up, stopping for breath as the goose takes off, out of his reach.

The goose disappears out of sight, and Crowley has many, many questions. Luckily, Aziraphale comes along shortly after, carrying a picnic basket and looking undisturbed.

"Did you see a goose come by here?" Crowley says. "Little white one, orange beak."

"Oh, that goose," Aziraphale says. "It's stirring up quite the ruckus, I hear."

"How does a goose cause a ruckus?" Crowley says, taking the wine out of the basket and miracling the cork out.

"It steals things," Aziraphale says. "Runs about with them."

"Huh," Crowley says. "Why would a goose do that?"

"I haven't the slightest," Aziraphale says. "Here, try one of these," he adds, spreading something onto a cracker and handing it to Crowley.

They have a boozy picnic, and Crowley falls asleep somewhere in the middle, his head pillowed on Aziraphale's lap. It just feels so nice, in the way Crowley is now admitting to himself might not be the worst thing in the world. The nap is just long enough, and Crowley wakes up to find Aziraphale still sitting with him.

"Hey there, angel," Crowley says. He looks around. "Didn't we have a bottle of champagne?"

"Oh, I hoped you wouldn't notice," Aziraphale says fretfully. "It was that blasted goose. It came and snatched it right up. I tried to chase it, but to no avail."

"What's a goose going to do with a bottle of champagne?" Crowley asks.

"What's it going to do with someone's glasses or a pile of mail?" Aziraphale says.

An idea is starting to form in Crowley's head, and he doesn't like it. "That's a very good question."

It's only then that Crowley starts paying real attention to the goose. He tracks its movements, trying to find patterns. It seems to target one person at a time, going around the village. It hasn't come to Crowley and Aziraphale's place yet, but Crowley is starting to suspect they will be last, and they will be targeted in a very personal, very specific way.

Crowley knows now that the goose is a demon, sent to check up on him. The goose is supposed to be a warning, that they are watching him. Crowley will not have this. This is Crowley's retirement. He doesn't deal with Hell anymore. He's going to live how he wants to live, and no fucking demon is going to stop him.

"Crowley, do you think you may be reading a bit too much into this?" Aziraphale asks.

"You're not reading enough into this," Crowley says, because he's going to catch that fucking goose.

The problem with that the goose runs and flaps quite effectively, and Crowley, well. Crowley looks good, and Crowley feels good, but Crowley hasn't run a mile uninterrupted since he tried jogging for the first time, which was forty years ago. He tries to catch the goose and ends up bent over with his hands on his knees, panting heavily.

This is how Aziraphale finds him, and Aziraphale just sighs and escorts him home.

In the end, Crowley accomplishes the task in the classic manner: he waits for the goose to round a corner and stuffs it into a burlap sack. It lets out a flurry of angry honks as Crowley inelegantly ties the bag shut.

"Good on you, mate," says the old gardener, doffing his hat. Crowley manages an insincere smile and walks off with his prize.

The bag honks and flaps all the way home, trying to snap at Crowley through the bag and getting in a few good bites. "Pipe down," Crowley says. "Drama queen."

The goose squawks indignantly, and keeps struggling.

He gets the goose into the house, shutting doors to pen it in, even though it might shit everywhere and steal his things. He unties the bag, dumping the goose unceremoniously out onto the floor.

"Listen, friend," Crowley hisses. "I know a lot of things that would kill a goose that wouldn't kill a demon. Don't make me have to try them on you until something sticks. You know what I'm capable of, and you know I can call down holy water on you at any moment." He can't do that, but the goose doesn't need to know.

"Oh, as if you're some murderer," the goose says, as, in an unfolding of feathers, it takes a human form.

"Aziraphale?!" Crowley says.

"Obviously," Aziraphale says, folding his wings away.

"You're the- but you- why are you a goose?" Crowley stammers.

"Perhaps we should have a cup of tea and talk about it," Aziraphale says, walking away to the kettle before Crowley can question him further.

Crowley is so perplexed that he just sits there coming up with questions, all the way to Aziraphale pouring hot water into his cup. Aziraphale sits down across from him. "I feel I owe you an explanation."

"I'd fucking say so," Crowley says.

"It started in Hell," Aziraphale says; Crowley doesn't like to talk about that. "Pretending to be you was so frightening and so sad," Aziraphale pauses to sigh, "but it made me feel alive."

"You're a _goose,_" Crowley says. "Geese aren't demons. They're not very _nice_, but-"

"I'm getting to that," Aziraphale says. "I just wanted to let off some steam. I didn't want to do anything dangerous or truly terrible-"

"So you're a horrible goose," Crowley says, getting it. It's Aziraphale up and down, wanting to be tricky and sneaky without doing any actual harm.

"Yes," Aziraphale says. "I mostly just honk at people and steal anything that's not nailed down."

"Where do you take it?" Crowley asks.

Aziraphale smirks. "Oh, I have a little nook for my prizes."

"So you've just been terrifying people for your own fun?" Crowley says.

"They're not terrified of little old me," Aziraphale says dismissively. "They just think I'm an annoyance, except that time I ran around with a knife."

"Don't do that again," Crowley says.

"I wasn't planning on it," Aziraphale says. He looks chagrined. "I know it's better if I stop, but-"

"Don't you dare," Crowley says. "It's the funniest thing I've seen in months."

"Oh, I'd hoped you'd think so," Aziraphale says, smiling. "It's your kind of trouble, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Crowley says, and Aziraphale pecks him on the cheek. "Don't go messing with my plants."

"I would never," Aziraphale says, looking horrified, and Crowley snorts.

The next time Crowley sees the goose, he's wearing a little red ribbon, which suits him; it gives him a pop of color. The goose is running past him, but he honks politely at Crowley as he goes by.

"I love that asshole," Crowley says under his breath, and continues walking.


End file.
